


Healing Hands

by Angeladarling (Aganisia)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Destiel - Freeform, Fluff, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 04:38:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/922088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aganisia/pseuds/Angeladarling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shortly after being pulled out of Hell, Dean develops a weird fixation on Castiel's healing powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Healing Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Hiya this is my first SPN fic, which I wrote in a brief frenzy of inspiration so its unbeta'd. Please be kind o.o  
> This is a one-shot drabble set fairly early on in season 4. I'm currently unsure about continuing it, but I hope it's ok. As for warnings there is some self destructive type behaviour, and some angsty stuff but its all fairly tame. Hope you enjoy.

**Healing hands**

* * *

 

Dean has an odd fixation with being healed.

* * *

 

To say that Dean had been acting recklessly lately was a gross understatement. It wasn’t just on hunts, although those were carried out with far less caution than usual. It was the drinking and the pure grease that made up almost all of his food and running on as little sleep as possible, and the types of hook-ups that were risky at best.

Now an educated observer might guess that since the Apocalypse seemed imminent that the man was simply using this kind of behaviour as a coping mechanism, and they would probably be right. Other might argue that the continued trauma of spending forty years in hell had left him quite thoroughly messed up, and they would also be right if Dean were completely honest with himself, which was never.

But deep down, the real reason he did such stupid shit, was that periodically a certain angel would lay his hand on him and make it all go away in the space of a second. It was an odd feeling, a sudden jolt of energy like that time he’d almost electrocuted himself sticking a metal fork in the toaster, followed by a cool rush of soothing air that seemed to reach every cell in his body, a soft brush of invisible feathers on his skin, and he would be healed, restored to factory settings. Cuts and bruises would be wiped away, broken bones knitted back together in the blink of an eye, and he suspected, every trace of cholesterol and liver damage was cleaned out. It was nothing like that time that weird preacher had cured him of his heart condition, he had felt wrong for weeks after that, no this was something else, something pure.

While the healing itself was instantaneous, that strange rush of sensation could hang around for days, like static electricity on his skin, some sort of celestial endorphins. During those times he was careful not to let anything interfere with that feeling. He would lay off the booze and cut back on the bacon cheeseburgers and junk, and if possible try not to let anything maim him until the feeling had faded. It was a strange ritual he had adopted and would sleep like a baby after every angelic tune up, deeply and without dreams, sometimes for eight hours or more.

It was during those brief times that he almost felt clean again, like he could almost forget about the pit, and all the horrors that clung to him still as vivid as they ever were. It was a huge cliché, but when Cas healed him, he felt brand new and without burden. He felt cared for, for the first time in God only knew how long, like the strange being squatting inside whoever that poor dude in the trench coat was could simply lay a hand on his temple and understand every part of him, and not look away in disgust. It felt nostalgic and bittersweet and never quite enough, although he would never be able to admit it, or find the courage to ask for more. It made him feel ashamed as well, he didn’t deserve anything like this; it was selfish of him to want it so badly when he didn’t deserve it. And he felt disgusted at himself for needing that feathery douchebag so badly in his lowest moments.

 Because that’s what it was really, he didn’t really know what being healed by another angel would feel like but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be the same. This wasn’t just some angelic pain relief, this was something else entirely, something he didn’t even want to think about analysing too much.  Once the feeling faded he would feel lower than ever and storm out to lose himself in beer and scotch and the whole process would start again. Christ, if that wasn’t the most messed up thing ever, hurting himself just to get some angel’s attention.  

And that was how he found himself waking up alone at four in the morning in a ditch in some back end of nowhere town with a spitting headache and a bloody nose, and the figure of the angel silhouetted in the dirty moonlight which gave the outline of his trench coat a dim halo of light. How ironic could you get? He was looming over him like some sort of dorky gargoyle, and the fizzy feeling in his blood told him he had been healed just enough to sober him up and bring him around, but all evidence of the bar fight and getting thrown out of a moving car by some disgruntled rednecks he’d cheated remained mapped out across his body.

“What are you doing here?” he mumbled.

“You prayed to me, right before you lost consciousness.” The angel replied, emotionless as per usual, but there was something dangerous in the air and Dean knew that Cas was beginning to get real tired of his shit. Like the time he remembered all too vividly when the heavenly being had declared that if he could drag Dean out of hell he could definitely send him right back.

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t pay any attention to a drunk guy’s prayers, Cas. I’m sure they’re all a load of bullshit.”

 “You seemed to want to see me personally. I would have ignored you otherwise.” Shit, Dean really was an idiot when he was drunk?

“Oh.”

“Are you always this careless with your wellbeing, or is this a new development?”

 “What?” Dean laughed nervously, and winced at the pain in his ribs, ok he could definitely add some sort of fracture to his current problems, and he was keenly aware that Cas still hadn’t healed him yet.  “Whatever gave you that impression?”

“I dedicated a lot of time and energy to bring you back here, Dean. I don’t appreciate you undoing my hard work.” Castiel said, and was that annoyance he could hear under that usual monotone? “I would like to know why you would feel compelled to do such a thing.” the angel was staring at him now, he couldn’t see in the dark, but he could feel the strange intensity of Castiel’s gaze, like he was being x-rayed, that familiar unease as his mind was rifled through.  

“What did I say about the mind reading, Cas?”

“You think very loudly, I can’t help it.” Castiel said. “You want me to heal you.”

“Well I am in quite a bit of pain right now.” Actually this was nothing to write home about but whatever.

“Don’t act like I don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t keep putting yourself in these situations, Dean. This is getting out of hand. What if that had been a demon or worse?”

“Look I was just being stupid. So ..uh..let’s just forget tonight ever happened ok? I won’t bother you again.” Dean said angrily, struggling to get up and failing. It was a good thing it was dark out that way maybe Cas wouldn’t notice the blush creeping across his skin.

“No I think I understand, many experience a feeling of rapture when they’re healed, it’s a natural response. It dulls the memories of perdition, there’s no shame in wanting that. I’m only sorry I couldn’t erase them completely.” The angel said. He had these odd moments, where he actually seemed to show a little compassion, Dean almost believed them sometimes.

“Yeah well, I don’t think anything could get rid of that.” Dean replied with a shudder. He wanted to tell the angel more, like how desperate he felt, as though all the joy had been forced out of him leaving nothing but an empty and violated shell, and how the grace or whatever that stuff was, well it made him feel less empty. Instead he kept quiet, letting the awkward silence carry on, interrupted only by the sound of distant cars.

“Hell has a habit of altering those who find themselves there. Since I was the one who brought you back, I will be responsible for your continued wellbeing. If it helps, I will heal you. But in the future I would rather you ask instead of putting yourself at risk like this, do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.”

“No, my name is Castiel.” The angel said, and Dean didn’t need to see the confused look he was getting to know it was there. He couldn’t help laughing but quickly stopped himself as another stab of pain shot through his ribs. A pain that gently ebbed away as he felt the angel’s hands ghost across his chest.

“Whoah whoah whoah, since when did healing me include groping?” Dean cried, curling away from the touch, even though it was warm and soft and everything he had been craving.

“I thought you’d want it to last so I’m fixing everything individually. I can do it the fast way if you’d prefer.” Cas said, ignoring his discomfort and moving to slowly massage the next rib, leaving a cool trail of healing energy at his fingertips and damn how could he look so calm when Dean felt so very wonderful.

“Um, no…no this is fine.” It was more than fine, where the other times had been a hurried flash of brilliance, this was drawn out and lingering. It was unlike anything he had ever felt before, the pain and the pleasure of it all mingled into something out of this world. Like a thousand tiny vibrations on his skin, like his first kiss, and like someone had injected popping candy into his bloodstream all at the same time.

The angel took his time, concentrating on every bone and organ as though he were a priceless painting that needed to be restored, lingering touches drifting from his twisted ankle to his mild concussion. It was already intense enough through the barrier of his clothes but once he felt the angel’s fingers in his hair and against his cheek, Dean nearly came undone and felt the hot path of his own tears as they fell and landed on the dry earth.

He didn’t know how long he had been lying there, or when he had rested his head on Castiel’s lap, but Dean was beyond caring anymore because for once he felt peace.

“I think it’s time I return you to your brother.” Castiel said, more softly than before.

“Can’t we just stay here? Here is good.”

“You’ll get cold out here.” Came his reply, and he was vaguely aware of the world shifting as he found himself on his rickety old bed back at the motel they were staying in, and despite himself Dean could already feel himself drifting off.

“Cas?”

“Yes.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, Dean.” He wasn’t sure he had dreamed it, but Dean could have sworn that he felt the brush of feathers against his eyelids as he fell asleep.


End file.
